Tomorrow is my half-birthday. Not the kind of thing that one normally notices past the age of five or six, but I happened to look at the date, and it made me think of it. Back on my birthday, I wanted this year to be magical. It was a silly number game–my birthday and my age were the same, which is something that doesn’t happen to very many people, and it felt like it meant that the year should be special. Unique. Extraordinary.
So far… yeah. I’ve been sick a lot, and most work-related things have been a bust. I hoped I would find an editor who I loved but instead the editor I hired was a huge waste of money and time. I had fingers crossed for a marketing intern, hoping she’d be an enthusiastic assistant, but she quickly figured out that she didn’t want to be in marketing. Good for her, but a bust for me. For the first time, I was optimistic about a book before release, but… yeah. It was misplaced optimism. I hired a cover designer because I fell in love with her work and thought she’d give me something extraordinary, but many empty promises later, I haven’t seen a thing. Honestly, my magical year has, work-wise, been enough to send me looking for a job in retail. Not to mention that I haven’t done any good new writing since April, which probably ought to be first on that list.
All that said, though, I fired a gun for the first time. It was fun, like holding an explosion in your hand. Heavier than I realized it would be. I traveled in the RV as the adult-in-charge for the first times. It was awesome, a serious feeling of competence. I drove a tractor and played with the shovel lifter scoop thing and just the memory makes me smile and feel joyful. I had a dinner party, with games, for ten people, none of whom I knew two years ago. So I don’t want to wallow in disappointment. Those are the things that I want to remember–the unexpected moments of trying something new, doing something different, enjoying an experience that pushes my boundaries.